


dsmp oneshots

by doodlescreams



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Antarctic Empire, Blaze Hybrid Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Dad Schlatt, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, F/F, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Karl Jacobs Needs a Hug, Karlnapity, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Parent Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), SMP Earth - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Time Traveler Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), angst maybe, dont ship irl people pls, i write alot of stuff i never finish, its oneshots ok, requests open, tags may hint at the next oneshot, they are all traumatized be gentle with them okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlescreams/pseuds/doodlescreams
Summary: oneshots based around the dream smp. i try to stick to canon relationships, but sometimes i can headcanon on accident.stuff that will probably be in here eventually:dream/georgedream/fundysapnap/karl/quackityjschlatt/quackitytommy & tubbo & phil & techno & wilburquackity & jschlatt & tubboeret & fundyif yall have requests ill try em out! i cant guarantee theyll be good, but i can try. :) i dont do smut stuff tho, but 100% can do angst, fluff, horror/gore, etc. i have no problems with heavy topics either, i just dont like sex lmao.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity & Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Ponk | DropsByPonk/Sam | Awesamdude
Comments: 20
Kudos: 285





	1. are you tired yet? (dream/george)

**Author's Note:**

> i dont ship real people! i dont use the irl names of people who dont want it used! if cc's want this taken down, it will be. i respect boundaries and i respect privacy. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is tired. Desperately tired. But he knows that after everything and no matter what, there will be a warm, cozy pink bed waiting back at home, with him.

George was having trouble sleeping. Recently he seemed to always be tired. Through legislation meetings and through court battles, he found himself falling from his trained stance. He was the most dangerous among the cabinet. Highly trained by the admin himself, in the ways of murder and treachery, bound truly to only one person. But in this nation, now Manburg, he saw hope. He saw a chance to better himself. And at _his_ insistence, he left.

_Go on, live your dreams. I’ll always be waiting for you here._

But he was tired. When Manburg had been developing, George was ecstatic and desperately excited. He jumped at any chance to assist and defended his comrades to the grave. He fought for them all unless it was _him_ he was against. He stood loyal to his country, and whoever was at the head of it, despite was his personal opinions may be. He may have thought that Wilbur was a manipulative bastard and a scoundrel, and despised the way so many children stood on the front lines, but George did not voice it besides small questions. He often found himself shielding protestant young soldiers as fire rained from opposing armies. But Wilbur had succeeded and while George was not proud of how it came about, he felt endless pride in his country. His L’Manburg.

And lo and behold, Wilbur had put him in a position of power. Apparently not speaking up over child soldiers and general atrocities made a man look better. He was a bodyguard, head of L’Manburg's future defensive militia. He was to guard the cabinet and organize a police force. He supposed it was what he was good at. 

If George learned one thing about Wilbur while L’Manburg was being developed, it was that he knew the strength of the people’s opinions. Wilbur was always sure to make his cabinet look good, to paint a picture of perfection that the citizens couldn’t see through. History is always told from the perspectives of the winners, and George found himself resenting the way Wilbur told it. No trace of the dirty things he had done. And finally, Wilbur’s last play to get the public on his side was to hold an election.

It made him look honorable. Humble, even. He was the general, he had led hundreds of homeless and oppressed people into a new world, and had arranged and won the fight for their freedom. It only seemed right that he would be put in charge as the army transitioned into a nation. But an election was the final nail in the coffin. He had secured his place in power as simple as that. 

_I’m glad you understand, George._

George had applied as a candidate as soon as he had gotten the chance. The soldier of few words was no more. He didn't want to stand around as a man who put children on the front lines of a grueling war again manipulated his favored pair into his cabinet. They are grown up now. The child-like light and life in their eyes that had so often rallied the child regiment had hollowed out. George resented the lack of animated movement from Tommy, just as he resented the missing presence of the once-persistent affection and want for adventure in Tubbo’s. And yet they still found the time for that light to return, and it was always when Wilbur was gone. They didn't even know that the man was poisonous, that he sucked the life out of them. 

_Had they ever even had a childhood?_

But George had found himself getting tired. He missed him home back in the Kingdom, he missed his bed with the pink sheets that looked so grey. George knew that his name alone on the ballot would do no good. He had no vice to run with, and the people found him rather intimidating. A war hero, they said. 

_I’ll wait for you. Come down when you're ready._

George felt sick when they all turned away.

So he went to his friends. They weren't close, George had only met them a week prior at a council meeting, but he could tell they were good men. New to the world, and new to the politics within it, but smart and prepared to do what they could. They recognized Wilbur's lack of self-control, and agreed with George’s sentiment.  
  
Schlatt and Alex were on his side. Schlatt was a master business man, educated and skilled at debate with a vast knowledge of government. He was a ram hybrid, with sleek curling horns and a look in his eyes that was dangerously protective. This man could have anything he wanted. He had the drive. George could recognize that. He was so much more than the sleazy, sharp-witted yet quiet persona he was so good at playing. 

_He’s so careful with his words. I don't blame him. But his heart is in the right place._

Alexis was exactly how he seemed. He was extremely smart with an even smarter mouth, and just filled with words. He could talk for hours without a second of other input, and was intricately trained in the ins and outs of law. While he was technically just a license away from being a lawyer, he wasn't much good in arguments. He became flustered much too easily and inevitably succumbed to his emotions. But people liked him.

They had come to a conclusion. They would run. They would find a fourth for Schlatt, and the two pairs would go on the ballot. Schlatt was currently running solo, but they were in talks with Fundy, a fox hybrid and coincidentally Wilbur’s son (turns out even his own blood had begun to notice his megalomania) to be his second. And then Alex, the charismatic and kind newcomer, backed by the happy-go-lucky yet off putting war hero George. 

But George found himself getting so tired. 

_Ready for bed yet?_

No matter how much rest he got, how late he slept in, no matter how often he neglected his duties as a member of the cabinet, he found his eyes drooping and his mouth stretching into a yawn. He wasn't sure why or how, but Tommy and Tubbo seemed to think he was one of them. He was often looked after with glances of worry, Tubbo often carrying a small blanket for whenever he found George having a narcoleptic episode. While he often acted like he found them dangerously annoying, George liked the boys. He hoped they would hate him when they saw he was running against their beacon of light, Wilbur.

And worse, when he would lay in bed, eyes shut but mind terribly awake, he found himself missing the Kingdom. And eventually, when his mind did finally reach the plane of rest and dormancy, and the entirety of it was present and palpable, _he_ came.

_“Dream?” George said, his stomach was twisted in knots and his eyes hurt._

_He could see Dream, outlined by the pale blue glow from the plane of sleep. He was walking towards him, mask reflecting the light and moving enchantingly over his light hair. The way the glow reflected was reminiscent of that that came through water, moving in waves endlessly and casting a beautiful undulating luminosity._

_George felt his chest become light as the figure noticed him, rapidly walking forward until he was running towards him. George reciprocated, his footsteps echoing in the blackness as he ran towards his only true ally._

_“George!” Dream exclaimed, relief and joy in his voice. Their bodies met with momentum, their arms wrapping around each other as George felt a laugh bubbling in his chest._

_“It's so good to see you,” the masked man whispered, leaning back and holding George at an arm's length. George couldn't read him through the smiling porcelain mask._

_With a boldness driven only by his joy at seeing his best friend again, George reached behind Dream’s head and began to undo the buckle on the thin strap. Though George had seen the man behind the grim smile so many times, the blonde still tensed as it fell away. George couldn't see his eyes, because he hadn't fallen asleep with his enchanted glasses on. They didn't travel with him to Dream’s realm. He wished he could see the green of his irises._

_He was still just as lovely and tragic looking as George had remembered. It had been months since they had seen each other in real life, in person and not through the connection Dream had forged between their minds. Being away from the admin was incredibly draining, due to that tether. The exact tether that brought them together at night fought to reconnect them during the day._

_It was a constant struggle not to go running home to where he knew Dream was waiting. But here, in their dreams, they could be together at the expense of George’s rest. It was a willing sacrifice. It was enough just to be held by Dream for a short while._

_George let the mask fall away from his hand, the object delicately floating in the air as the altered reality took hold of it. He raised his now empty hand to caress the tanned and scarred cheek of Dream, affection flaring to life as George let a grin rise on his lips._

_“I missed you, Dream,” George said, eyes flickering between Dreams._

_“Well, I would come more often if you didn't need your sleep.” He replied, leaning backwards as he willed away the gravity of the domain._

_George rolled his eyes. “It's just sleep, Dream. I don't need that much of it. Besides, I’d much rather see you than sleep.”_

_Dreams face scrunched before a look of peace came over it._

_“You're tired George.”_

_Neither spoke. Eyes were locked with eyes and the air was somber._

_“You need more sleep than what you get.”_

_George looked away._

_“And it's not just tired in the sleeping sense, is it?”_

_Dream tilted his head, trying to retain eye contact._

_“Emotionally. Wilbur has finally crossed your line, huh Georgie?”_

_George looked back. They were floating higher now, if what they were previously standing on was considered the ground. Dream's right hand was locked onto George’s forearm, their other hands entwined to keep them from floating apart._

_“Yeah.”_

_Silence spanned the abyss._

_“Just come home,” Dream's voice had lost the told-you-so tone and instead carried a wounded and longing whine. George felt every bone in his body shiver. “Please George.”_

_“I can't, Dream. I’m going to run against Wilbur in the Election. I've planned it all out with Alex and Schlatt, and there's no way we can lose,” his voice cracked._

_“Wilbur’s nation is dirty. I can't come home willingly, knowing that those two boys in the white house still see him as a do-no-evil martyr, and while he continuously thinks that child soldiers and segregation are okay.”_

_George inhaled, meeting Dream’s eyes. He was quiet._

_“I have a chance to help people. I don't want to leave them all there while I come running back to paradise.”_

_Dream exhaled through his nose, a small smile coming to rest on his scarred lips._

_“I understand George. And I agree. I was harsh on them, and while I don't regret the war I wish I had fought differently. I enabled his use of children and probably made him bitter. I regret not establishing a better treaty either. Eret misses them.”_

_George chucked at Dreams light hearted joke. He was glad he understood. It seemed that Dream was the only one who ever understood._

_“I want you to come home, though I won't make you. I miss seeing you full of energy and in our home, not just through this realm.”_

_“I know, I miss it too. I find it so hard to sleep, Dream. Nothing could compare to that scuffed pink bed.” He laughed. Dream grinned._

_“But really, Gogy. I’ll always wait for you. Come back when you're ready, I'm sure Eret will be thrilled.”_

_“I will, Clay,” George said sorrowfully. Time traveled so quickly here. It was time to return to his body and go about the work day again. “Be safe, please.”_

_Dream leaned forward, sending them tumbling slightly, and gave George a kiss. It relit every nerve in George's skin on fire, the edges of him frozen cold while his innards boiled._

And before he knew it, he was back in the red bed in L’Manburg. The sheets tangled around his lower half, the sun shining in the window, with the phantom of Dream still lingering by his side, his last words resonating endlessly around in his skull.

_‘See if you can get Wilbur to invite me over for tea!’_

That sounded so much more lovely than Dream could ever imagine. So with a yawn and a sad longing for the object of his affections a whole country away, George put on his suit and left his bedroom, prepared to meet with Schlatt and Alex. He cast away his fatigue with a cup of coffee and tried to renegotiate his sorrow, knowing that when he was ready, George always had a place waiting for him in that old pink bed, next to his best friend with the pretty green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont ship real people, these are their smp characters.


	2. new normal (tubbo, quackity, jschlatt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a small character study on tubbo during his time as schlatt's secretary of state.

Manburg was cold today. Tubbo found himself sitting dejectedly on the slope behind the White House. The crisp air bit at the tips of his fingers, but he just shoved them deeper into his pockets, as if that would help. If he looked hard enough, he could see the faintest trace of his steamy breath in front of him, a pale white sheen from every shivering exhale. 

He wore his suit. He wore his green tie. On his lapel sat the black flag of Manburg. Things almost felt right. Over his shoulders was a blanket, just a simple dark blue blanket, that smelled faintly of strawberry body wash and upturned dirt. It was Alex’s. The older had handed it to him as he had made his way out the back door, a faint, somber smile on his face. 

He could see Alex now if he turned. Through the blue tint of the window he would see that the short man was standing with his arms crossed, his foot tapping, his mouth opening and closing as he spoke aggressively. He was angry, his eyebrows furrowed and his free hand gesturing violently. Once towards Tubbo, once towards himself, then one towards the man across from him. But more than that, there was hurt in his eyes. Tubbo was almost two meters away, separated from him only by sheets of glass and quartz, but he could read Big Q’s expression just as easy as when he was directly in front of him. 

The man across from him, standing with his arms outstretched, body pitched slightly forward, was President J. Schlatt. His ram horns curled around his fluff covered ears and reached dangerously for his eyes, his hair soft and brushed back across the base of his horns. He was dressed to a T in his suit, a shimmering black flag on his lapel. His hands glimmered with the numerous rings he wore on his fingers, and his shoes were impeccably shiny. It was evident to Tubbo’s experienced eyes that he had just returned from business. Schlatt was yelling at Alex, and if Tubbo listened close enough he could hear their voices. He didn't want to though.

They were in the common area, just between the dining room and the kitchen. He could see the clenched oven mitt in Alex’s hand, and if he were closer he was sure he would have seen some kind of baking material skewed across the man's casual clothing. It was no secret to anyone that Alex loved to cook, and it was even less of a secret that the man was absolutely excellent at it. Schlatt seemed to be seething. Tubbo supposed the hybrid had interrupted Alex while the man was cooking breakfast, a promise that Alex had made to Tubbo last weekend after they had to do precarious amounts of paperwork. The pancakes Alex was making were for Tubbo, his treat, but he knew that Alex would have made extra, even though Schlatt claimed to hate pancakes. Inevitably the three would have ended up around the table together, devouring the amazing meal, Alex’s massive mess in the kitchen left until they were all finished. But now Alex had to stop making his mess to argue with his president, most likely over some extremely small detail that Alex had happened to accidentally overlook (It wasn't his fault, Alex was just like that), and of course, the chance at that perfect Saturday breakfast was gone. 

It felt wrong, slightly sickly even, to hear the Schlatt and Alex arguing like that. Just days before, they had been fine. Agreeing and smiling, arms around the shoulders and pride in their eyes, no mean words from their mouths and even half-joking, half-serious propositions of marriage. Schlatt would ruffle Tubbo’s hair, irresponsibly give him horrifically dangerous weapons, and drown him in snacks. Alex would give him hugs, lend him his blanket, walk with him, and supply copious hilarious jokes. But now when Tubbo glanced back at the once caring figures, he could only see the aggressive and absolutely chaotic feud that his friends seemed to be having. 

It was like Alex could detect it. As soon as Tubbo’s brown eyes were laid on the pair, he froze, ceasing his actions and swallowing. Schlatt glanced over as well, the fury and annoyance on his face dissipating momentarily until it was replaced by a nasty scowl. Much to Tubbo’s chagrin, the horned man turned away as the younger of the two yanked the curtains shut. The yelling faded into background noise, and then he heard the front doors of the White House slam shut, signaling Alex’s exit, breakfast forgotten.

Turning back around, Tubbo returned his view to the foggy horizon. He could hear Manburg behind him, busy and alive with vigor and love of newfound independence. The skyline was nothing but empty trees, and slightly to his right, in the distance, he spotted the familiar shape of Eret’s castle. 

Eret. He remembered Erets constantly kind words and reassurances. His stunning confidence and all-around regal beauty. The king was far beyond any other royal Tubbo had ever met. He was kind-hearted and understanding, yet honest and genuine. Eret never treated him like he was an irresponsible child, the way Wilbur was so keen on doing. Eret was indisputable. He acted as he seemed- like a king. Sometimes he wonders why Eret did what he did. But now, Tubbo doesnt think it matters all that much. Manburg was separate and Eret was happy. He'd gotten what he wanted.

Tubbo shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the breeze blew, the crisp air carrying the comforting scent of strawberry and earth against him. Part of his brain imagined Alex hugging him, the warm and homely smell from the man himself and not his blanket. He longed for that comfort. But there was no way he would go in right now.

Tubbo had learned things since the Election. About Manburg. About Alex. But he had learned the most about President J. Schlatt. There were few things in life Schlatt actually wanted. Money and power, mainly, but sometimes he would feel the undying need for some odd thing. Whenever he wanted something, he got it. His emotions were turbulent, and never half-assed. Schlatt was horrifically irrational when he felt intense emotions. When he was very happy, he tended not to think and play along with whatever his heart wanted. And when he was angry- oh my, when he was angry, he was volatile. Chaotic and hate-driven. Feeling as if existence itself was against him. He would yell, he would slam his fists. But mostly, mostly he sat in his big white chair and seethed. And when he got to thinking, he would call Tubbo over. Tubbo wasn’t afraid of being hurt by the man. Tubbo knew that Schlatt, unfortunately, was more attached to Tubbothan he would have liked to admit. Tubbo knew that the president would never directly hurt him. He couldn’t. But Tubbo was afraid of what Schlatt would order him to do. 

As the president’s right hand, Tubbo carried out his will. When Schlatt was angry, he was volatile, chaotic, and spontaneous. Tubbo desperately feared the order that he was sure would come one day. Tubbo feared having to commit murder.

He shook the thoughts from his brain, resolving to let his mentally ill, fucked up father figure seethe in his chair alone. If he called, Tubbo would not answer.

This wasn’t the first time the Pres and VP had argued, but Tubbo never liked it at all. (It felt like a sick and twisted marital dispute, with Manburg as the estranged child. Or maybe Tubbo was their estranged child...) But someway, somehow, Schlatt seemed to brush it all away. As soon as the fights had happened, as soon as his seething had ended, it was over. Back to movie nights and failed baking attempts and joking during legislation meetings. Back to three very different people all cuddled together on a couch, and back to waking up to Alex’s horrific yet upbeat singing from the bathroom.

Back to normal. And the worst part was, Tubbo didn't hate it at all. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time. He missed Tommy desperately, as one would often miss their more energetic other half, but here he felt so much more authentic.

Wilbur was not affectionate in the slightest. He did not trust Tubbo the way he did Tommy, and sometimes even looked at him with a glance that was just painful. Wilbur used Tubbo, used him to spy on Manburg, so that Pogtopia could reclaim their land and enact revenge. But Tubbo wasn't sure he wanted that anymore. 

Even Tommy started to look at him differently. In the monthly meetings that Tommy had once insisted on and always seemed keen on having, Tubbo would sometimes catch the blonde boy looking at him. The same way he looked at Schlatt, and Alex. He didn't like it. It made him feel wrong. Why should he be subjected to such scrutiny? He was a spy! And besides, Alex and Schlatt didn't deserve such a glare. Tubbo had never even seen such a grim expression on Tommy. Wilbur was teaching him hate, that was for sure. But even then, Tubbo couldn't even begin to choose what side he really wanted more. His lifelong loyalty to Tommy, to his brother, his other half, was unbearably strong, but the sense of comfort and utter belonging he got in Manburg was much more rewarding. He would sit through a million of Schlatts angry seething fits if it meant him and Schlatt and Alex could watch movies together again. It was a small price to pay, considering that Wilbur had always seemed to dislike him anyway. 

Still. Tubbo didn't want to choose. But things were looking promising for Manburg. Tubbo was still just a kid, and no matter what side he ended up being on, he didn't think he could ever live up to the expectations that they both had. Wilbur and Schlatt weren't so different, after all. Wilbur wanted Tubbo to be more like Tommy; less kind, brutally honest, more vindictive and fiercely loyal. Schlatt wanted Tubbo to be more grown-up, to be more responsible and learn how to run the country in case something ill befell the president.

Both men had tried to raise a child into their own vision of greatness. One, into a cunning and unfaltering warrior willing to commit numerous hate-filled crimes at the drop of a hat, and the other, into a strong, confident and loved leader who would promise longevity for their Manburg.

Tubbo wasn't sure he could do either.

He used to think that Wilbur Soot and J. Schlatt were the antithesis of one another. There was a time when Tubbo looked at Wilbur the way Tommy did, his heart full of hope and inspiration as their wonderful leader, their General, led them on and promised them shelter and safety and love. He had never been as close as Tommy was to him. Honestly, Tubbo had once longed to have that sort of relationship. He thought he had found it in Eret, and then he thought he had found it in Fundy. 

Tubbo wouldn't discredit the Wilbur he once knew, though. That man was real, that man cared about Tommy, and that man cared about Tubbo, just as he had cared about his son Fundy and his beautiful fledgling nation of L’Manburg. That man was real, carried in only the memories of the people he affected. Now, while the vessel appeared the same, it was not the same man. 

Wilbur wasnt himself anymore. At least, not the Wilbur Tubbo had looked up to. Perhaps Wilbur had been ill for a while, and refrained from saying anything in fear of losing trust. Maybe it was just sheer and utter pain that broke his mind. Tubbo felt grief at the thought. But Wilbur was in the wrong. 

Schlatt wasn't what Tubbo thought he was. Just a few months ago, when Tubbo gazed at Wilbur in astonishment, he had glared at Schlatt. He had just seemed to be a strange man, with devilish eyes and curling horns and tales of different lands. He spoke foreign languages and smiled at things that most frowned at. He was nonchalant and different, and Wilbur had taught Tubbo to hate the hybrid. 

At first the ram hadn’t seemed like much of a threat. He had appeared at spawn shortly after Alexis had, tired and wearing a finely pressed suit. He was casual, sort of rich and a tad sleazy. He could hold an argument and a couple kegs of beer. He was mainly confrontational, but never irrational. He defended himself and his name to his deathbed, and as soon as he became his friend, Alex found himself defended by him as well. He didnt take shit from anyone. It was respectable. Tubbo was employed under Wilbur to help organize building as well as public relations, but the job was boring. Most of the time Tubbo had found himself watching the ram hybrid. He couldn't help but stare as Schlatt strolled around, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes half-lidded and back in a slouch, horns mostly covered by a strange looking ball cap. He always walked with Alex. He supposed they had bonded over their shared newcomer status. Of course, the duck hybrid had arrived a lot sooner than him, but he seemed captivated by the ram in the exact opposite way everyone else was. He claimed to know Wilbur, claimed to know him from a previous world. Wilbur ignored the claims and warned Tubbo not to speak to him. 

But still, Alex and Schlatt walked together everyday. They were each other's closest friends. At first, it was just daily strolls and stopping at Niki’s bakery, Alex going on and on talking while Schlatt kept his silent, entertained smile with his darting eyes, then they would go back to their shared home. The change started slowly, with Schlatt walking with better posture. His hands out, back straight, meeting Alex’s eyes. Then, eventually, he started engaging in conversation with his friend, occasional light responses or chuckles. And before Tubbo knew it, they walked down to Niki’s with Schlatts arm over Alex’s shoulders, both of them bursting into loud cackling laughs as they talked, Schlatt greeting the other townspeople, and even shooting Tubbo a smile. 

And then, only about two weeks after he had arrived, the cap was gone. His rams’ horns showed sturdy and almost golden, his plush hair falling into a natural middle part with soft curls. Tubbo saw the keen and apprehensive twitching of his little sheep’s ears, and he almost found himself wanting to reach out and touch them. But he wouldn't. Firstly, because it was probably horrifically rude, and two, Wilbur had told him to stay away from him. 

But he never seemed that bad. He seemed lazy, disinterested. Wilbur watched the ram with a wary eye. Tommy never cared about newcomers. But it was Tubbo's job to pay attention to who showed up, and Schlatt was quite the interesting character. The ram and his right hand duck made their way into the political scene naturally. Wilbur called a town meeting, the pair stepped up. They were regular faces then, recognised as part of the community despite Wilburs obvious dislike of the ram. 

Tubbo’s brain told him that they had previous beef that went unfinished. Tubbo’s brain also told him that Wilbur was being racist. He shoved those kinds of thoughts away. Schlatt was more than capable of defending himself, and he wouldn't need to know that he had become part of the heart of L’Manburg.

Eventually, Tommy would come to Tubbo with a big grin. Tubbo would find himself smiling too, he couldn't help it. But when Tommy spoke, it fell. 

“You’re rigging the Election?” 

“Well, yeah. How else do we stay in power?” Tommy had frowned.

“You  _ don't _ , Tommy. It's an  _ election _ . I thought we left Dreams Kingdom to avoid tyranny and dictatorship?”

“It isn't tyranny or dictatorship you idiot, its democracy, but the way it should be.” Tommy never liked it when Tubbo disagreed with him. 

Tubbo had frowned, a sigh escaping his entire being. “It's not democracy if it's  _ rigged _ , Tommy. What will you two do if other people run?”

“They can run, but they can't win,” Tommy had grinned. 

He was completely and utterly wrong. 

Schlatt narrowly, just  _ narrowly _ , won the election. Alex had run too, in an attempt to get at least one of them in the cabinet. Tubbo remembers Tommys raucous cries of triumph as Wilbur announced that their party had gotten a staggering 45% of votes. Tubbo remembers his smile falling as Wilbur announced Alex and Schlatt’s deal. They ran separately, yet their votes would be pooled no matter what. 46%.  _ Forty-six _ . A whole  _ one percent _ that destroyed Tubbo’s entire sense of stability. 

The ram had won by  _ one  _ percent. 2,000 L’Manburgian citizens. And in those following moments, he didn't know what to do, or what to think. He felt like an underage soldier again. He wanted orders. No, he  _ needed  _ orders. He was afraid of what his own thoughts might say. He needed someone to get in his brain, and tell him what to do. He didn't want to hear any of his own words. It was the law. Tubbo always upheld the law. No exceptions. 

So when Schlatt stepped up to the podium, a soft, satisfied smile on his face and his eyes gazing down lazily, Tubbo was terrified. Schlatt stared right into the soul of Tommy, whose face was so shocked, so perplexed, that Tubbo felt his heart ache. He felt his heart shrivel further into a pulp when Schlatt spoke next. 

“Well... that was pretty easy.”

His speech was flooring. The man that Tubbo had seen everyday for weeks, just walking with Alex minding their own business, had disappeared. This man wasnt lazy, or sleazy, or dumb or even just a citizen. He was terrifying. His rams horns glimmered in the sun, his deep brown eyes appearing devilish, a glint of red as his eyebrows furrowed. His smile was wide, triumphant, and his teeth were abnormally sharp for a prey hybrid. His hair fell into his face, increasing the disheveled look and Tubbo wondered, terrified, if this man was sane enough to run this country. The world faded from Tubbos ears. He could see Alex pumping his fists into the sky, a grin on his face as he ran behind his best friend, his suit jacket unbuttoned and flapping crazily as he expelled his joy.

“ _ -revoke _ the citizenship of  _ Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit! _ ” His voice seemed to carry for miles. The echoing sound invaded Tubbo’s eardrums, seeping into his brain and lacing his very cells. 

Orders. He had them. So while his brain went numb and he dazedly followed the crowd that chased the newly exiled pair, Tubbo’s heart broke out into pure agony. But he couldn't feel it. He had orders.

Citizenship was required in L’Manburg. They weren't allowed to be here. He found himself meeting Niki’s eyes, which were filled with tears, behind the decrepit shell of the Hotdog Caravan. He stopped, met her eyes, and felt his face become a grimace of horror. No.  _ No _ , this couldn't be happening. 

His mind screamed as he guzzled down an invisibility potion and booked it for his tunnel. It dawned on him then. Exiled.  _ Exiled _ . Tommy, Exiled. His mind went to this morning. They were just together. This was supposed to be fine. Go according to plan. This was wrong. 

“Tubbo! Where's Tubbo? Lil Tubbs!” The voice came from over the walls and reverberated within them. Tubbo froze in his tracks, the words damning as he lifted his leg from the pond he had just put it in. He could see the safety tunnel below the water, waiting for him. But he was being summoned. He had to follow orders. And so he made his way back. He quickly made up some excuses, hollering them back at the podium where the President was waiting.

It just seemed  _ so wrong _ . 

As the invisibility wore away, Tubbo made his way back to the enclave where the crowd rested. Some seemed confused, others joyous. Eret wore a pleased yet neutral expression. Tubbo’s heart dropped a little more.

“There's my Secretary of State! C’mon kid, get up here!” 

Oh.  _ Oh _ , he was in it now, wasn't he?

Oh. This wasn't good. 

And yet he still climbed up to the podium.

And when he reached the top he found the ram hybrid standing with wide open arms, a grin plastered on his face. Tubbo walked forward hesitantly, heart pounding as Niki shouted something from down below. Schlatt met him in the middle and much to his utter surprise, wrapped his arms around Tubbo and gave him a bone-breaking hug. Tubbo’s arms were pinned to his sides as the President's arms lifted the teenager off the ground, giving a slight celebratory shimmy. Tubbo felt his cheek press against the steely cold bottom curl of Schlatt’s left horn. He held back the urge to shiver, laughing nervously before Schlatt set him down. He pulled back, his hands on Tubbos shoulders. 

This was strange. Not what he expected. He felt an involuntary smile grow on his face. He knew how to act. He was a good actor. His body would do all the work, go into autopilot and become a new character, the true Tubbo curling up into a metaphysical ball and blocking out the world. 

But he knew he couldn't, that he had to listen and that he couldn't let Big Law get the better of him. He was so lost, but he could do this, stand here and act like a spy for Tommy and Wilbur, should they want him. 

Schlatt was making another decree. Tubbo, once again, heard it through ears that made him feel like his head was underwater.

  
But that had passed. He eas here now, secretary of state of a nation that was incredibly safe, and incredibly prosperous. Schlatt was a good president. Schlatt was a good friend. Just admitting it made Tubbo feel sick to his stomach, but it was the truth.    
  
And so he continued to sit, watching the sun fall lower and lower, and eventually he could hear soft affectionate words of apology from the kitchen.    
  
“Two-bo! Come on in, we're gonna watch a movie!” Alex called. Tubbo smiled. That's usually how it went. And if Tubbo had seen Schlatt looking guilty and passing Alex and ice pack, he didn't mention it.   
  
This was his normal. And while his heart ached for his Tommy, his dysfunctional family of cabinet members would suffice for now. He cozied into the crook of Alex’s arm, the duck hybrid in the middle of the trio, and settled in for a long night.


	3. in a world like this (dadschlatt, sbi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt is young and dumb, and more than anything, wants his son to be safe from the cruel world. A stranger name Phil brings him peace.

Tubbo‘s origins were never something highly disputed among people. He was a kind young man who had a penchant for bees and a rather hard time reading. He was extremely intelligent and extremely capable despite his supposed lack of muscles and small frame. He was just Tubbo, and his presence in day to day life was so intensely unincriminating and underwhelming that people never bothered to question when he even showed up. They believed what they were told. 

He was a surrogate of Phils. Not directly adopted, but cared for. Tubbo and Tommy were brothers, platonic soulmates and attempting to separate them would only do you harm. Techno had defended him many a time but under one circumstance had fallen victim to the voices. Phil saw him as his lovable ward. But Wilbur saw something in Tubbo no one else did. He saw a potential for greatness that reminded him of an old friend of his.    
  
In reality Tubbo was the son of a man called Jebediah Schlatt. A ramlin, with sleek golden horns and amber eyes. He was young, and dumb. And in a world where the system was out to get you for no other reason than because you were different, Schlatt was absolutely fucked. He found himself with a son, a son who was just so unbelievably good, so unbelievably kind and small and beautiful.    
  
He barely scraped by when it was just himself. The job he had was being ‘cleansed’ and he found that his hybrid coworkers were either being fired or ending up dead under suspicious circumstances, and Schlatt at first wasn't sure what he preferred. His country was locked in a dystopia, scum filled streets a constant reminder of the fact that this country was practically a scar on the planet. A gaping, throbbing wound that reeked of infection that needed cleansing. And according to the wicked dictator at its head, that infection was hybrids.    
  
Schlatt wasn't sure he wanted to live in a world of such blatant and horrific racism and anarchy. But when Tubbo had arrived and his mother was ‘missing’ just like so many of their kind, Schlatt took it upon himself to live. 

Looking at his son was like a fire being lit in an empty fireplace. It was sudden and automatic with little to no fuel, yet filled him with the utter urge to do something. Anything. Everything he would do would be for his son, because in a world such as this, what else did he have to fight for? And by god, would Schlatt go down biting and kicking and screaming for Tubbo. 

He was much too good to be his son, much too good to be in such a foul place as this. Too intelligent to not be attending a school, and much too beautiful to be in such an ugly world. 

His heart was filled with little else than a burning, scorching love for Tubbo, adoration for the way his little fingers would curl over Schlatt’s own and the utmost affection for his occasional tiny bleating. He would feel the most intense caring and astonishment whenever the boy would open his scrunched peepers and look up at him with such big, blue eyes, so filled with wonder and unbridled curiosity.

Schlatt loved the kid more than he had ever loved anything in his life. It made his heart ache with the sheer force of his affection, the pure loyalty and love such a small, tiny creature exuded out of him.

It was all too good to be true.

Tubbo grew, and with growing came money. Schlatt found more jobs, most of which were quickly short-lived before he had to move on and try to take in as much cash as he could. Tubbo would stay at home, wrapped up in blankets and locked in the bedroom with a sleeve of cheap crackers and glass bottles of well water, and the kind-hearted old neighbor would call for him if she heard any raucous. Most of the time Tubbo slept through the day entirely, his sleep cycle falling into a rhythm of being awake when his father was home. Schlatt fed Tubbo everything he could get his hands on, using an old kitchen tool to haphazardly make it into some form of edible mash that he prayed his son wouldn't deny. Schlatt expected he would fall into tears if he wasted any of the food. 

Most of all, Schlatt dreaded winters. Winters meant huddling in front of a fireplace in their too-small home, and sacrificing every moth-eaten blanket for his son at even the slightest sign that he had even the smallest of chills. Winters meant cold weather and a dying garden, which meant breaking into the supplies of cans and jars in the pantry and rationing them amongst the pair, which meant Schlatt eating the occasional bite of pickled yam while Tubbo grew fat off of the preserved cucumbers and beets. Winter meant shorter days and longer nights, and the distinct paranoia and fear that maybe, just maybe Tubbo had been asleep for too long to be normal and that Schlatt had committed the worst sin as a parent in letting his son die in his sleep. 

He had found himself more than once tearing away at blankets to put his ear against his son's chest, the relief at the knowledge that he was still here, still alive and breathing, so powerful that he felt the swell in his throat before he could notice his vision blur with tears.

Winter would come and with it would arrive the first anniversary of his son's birth, and Schlatt would wrap him up warm and tight and tell him stories of distant lands with green grass as far as the eye could see, where ramlins roamed free with no threat of ethnic cleansing. 

He was even lucky enough to snag a small, sweet cake off of a cart while walking home. The guilt didn't bother him anymore. Stealing was wrong, but Schlatt would do anything for his son.

Tubbo looked up at him with big sleepy eyes, the reflection of the fireplace dancing across his pupils as he stared at his father with utmost admiration. Schlatt continued to weave tales of places he was sure didn't exist, places too good to be true- cities where the dictator was fair and kind, kingdoms where the ruler was warm hearted and loved. Where Tubbo and Schlatt lived in a warm cottage on a hill and they went out everyday and layed in the grass, and where Tubbo had friends and Schlatt had the money to raise him the way he deserved. 

All Schlatt had known was this concrete dystopia. An amalgamate of stone imbued with the fear of hybrids who had done no wrong, a labyrinth of murder and suffering. Where the ideas of such lovely places came from he didn't know, but he continued to spew his propaganda until a smile came to grow on his baby’s face.

Seeing his lips curl up in such a soft and pleasant way made Schlatt unconsciously copy him, a smile growing to mirror his sons own. He continued until he wound his story down into a sweet ending, where Tubbo and Schlatt lived happily ever after. 

Eventually the sun would fall below the horizon and Schlatt would need to break away from holding his now year old boy to slowly add logs to the fireplace. And so he did, trying to resist heartbreak as Tubbo let out a protestant bleat and reached out with his hands for his father. 

Schlatt threw in the logs haphazardly, which he would admit was a terrible decision, ever a worrier about conserving every material they were lucky enough to possess, and quickly returned to his son's side on the floor. Pulling him back into his lap got a satisfied smile out of Tubbo, so Schlatt felt relieved enough to just sit with his son and rest in comfort. 

Eventually, once the fire had burned low enough as to where the room was dimming again, Schlatt turned his son in his lap to face him, and reached behind to retrieve the little paper-wrapped cake. It was small and soft enough that Schlatt felt confident that Tubbo could eat it, but he still resolved to hold it himself to regulate his son's intake of the sweet.

Ramlins bodies grew differently than that of regular humans. Because of the prejudice and murder they had rather short lifespans, so they evolved to mature quickly and earlier than most. It was a sad truth, Schlatt thought, gazing at his son, a sad fucking truth that their species young had to mature quickly in order to be able to escape being murdered from birth.

“Here, Tubbo. It's your first birthday, baby,” Schlatt spoke then, presenting the cake to his son. Tubbo’s eyes widened, his soft down-covered ear flicking lightly. He looked down at the treat, then at his father, and smiled so brightly that it seared the light of a thousand suns into Schlatt’s heart.   
  


He shifted slightly, as to where Tubbo was leaning into his arm and Schlatt has access to both of his hands, and begins to slowly tear off pieces of the cake and deliver them to Tubbo’s mouth. The lamb rejoices at the flavors, his smile growing impossibly wider and a light in his eyes growing bright.

He eagerly reaches for more, to which Schlatt momentarily declines him. “What do you say, Tubbo?” He prompts, hoping, praying, that any small ounce of his poorly self-taught lessons got through to his son's conscious mind.    
  
“Please!” The boy replied, his voice and diction rather gummy due to his young age. But by god, was he intelligent.

With a swelling heart and a widening smile, Schlatt swoops down and leaves a kiss right between the budding stubs of his son's horns. Tubbo glows at the praise, practically shaking with joy and still eagerly reaching for the sweet.   
  
“Yes! Very good, little lamb,” he says, allowing Tubbo to reach for the final piece of the tiny decimated birthday cake. Once the final crumb has found its way into the young ramlin’s mouth, Schlatt wipes the slight residue on his hand onto the knee of his jeans before reaching up to gently push Tubbo’s hair away from his eyes.

His hair was growing clumpy and oily. He would need a bath soon, which meant precariously boiling water to pour into the bathtub. The last thing he wanted was his son getting hypothermia from a bath.

Schlatt ignored the thoughts, resolving to worry later. Tonight was Tubbo’s first birthday, and he wanted his son to enjoy it. He let his smile return to his face, tucking the lock of brown hair behind Tubbo’s fluffy ear before noticing a smear of icing on his cheek. 

Tilting his head, Schlatt frowns before licking his thumb and gently wiping it away. Tubbo protests with a small whine, his hands grabbing at his father’s palm while trying desperately to lean away.

Schlatt chuckles, his smile returning. He feels a small spark of humor at his son’s antics. This was what they had. And while doom was on the horizon, and Schlatt could feel age old illnesses knocking at his door, and he knew for sure that he wouldn't make it much longer, he knew he was happy. 

He had a friend. Well, a friend of a friend. Hell, he was even less than that. An acquaintance perhaps. He was known as the resident stranger of the neighborhood, someone just passing through. He had been here for only a week but Schlatt knew the man was pure hearted and true.

His name was Philza, and he was a kind, albeit snarky man who had three kids of his own. Schlatt had only spoken to him once. Over tea that Phil had offered him, in the apartment he was renting that happened to be next door to Schlatt’s own. Schlatt learned close to nothing about the man, instead watching both of their toddlers play and babble on the floor together while discussing parenthood and what it would mean to leave this accursed city. He learned there were only a few days until Phil and his kids visas expired. Before then, they had time to prepare and then get the hell out of dodge. 

Phil had told him that his first child, a shy eight year old piglin hybrid Phil called ‘Tech’ was adopted. Phil’s second child, Wilbur, was in fact his biological son, and was younger than Tech by only a few minutes. Phil seemed very pleased with the coincidence, stating “They aren't related by blood, but they act like twins anyway”. Wilbur’s mother was executed for being a hybrid, words that made both older boys in the corner of the room seem to wither. Phil was somber, but continued. His youngest son was named Tommy, the one that was currently wrapping his hands around Tubbo’s soft ear. He was Phil’s son, born from a wife he said was ‘ruling back home while they were away.’ He said her name was Kristen, and he would continue to gush about her for a moment before finishing about his family. Phil said that it hardly mattered to him whether or not he and his sons were blood related. He loved them all the same. Unconditionally. 

Schlatt had an idea. A bad one. 

The chance of Phil agreeing was close to nothing. 

But in a world like this, even the smallest sliver of a chance was worth a shot.

So as Schlatt placed the now asleep Tubbo down on their bed, he dug into the back of his closet and found a backpack. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all like this one! this is lots of worldbuilding for my sbi antarctic empire/dadschlatt au im working on. its more sad, more somber, but know that they all make it out alive and happy. :) Please leave a comment, they always make my day, and if you have any questions at all, feel free to ask. I'm still taking requests! stay safe out there.  
> ily! <3


	4. touch (ghostbur & glatt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schlatt reminisces on what it means to be dead, and Wilbur helps him fulfil a wish.

The afterlife was… interesting, to say the least. Schlatt had had his fair share of moments spent wondering what came after someone diminished their supply of respawns, but this one wasn’t quite what he had expected. 

After he had realized he was doomed since the beginning, that Dream and Wilbur had his death planned the second he joined the masked man, his heart had filled with melancholy. His curse, as it would seem, was more true now than it ever had been. Schlatt could not trust anyone. He would drive those he cared about away. A dreadful sense of paranoia (bred by a fucked childhood and systemic racism he fought against so aggressively) persistently loomed over his shoulders, wreaking havoc within his mind until he became the evil demon everyone already saw him as. 

It had pushed Alex away from him. 

At first glance, Alex was gullible and outspoken. Schlatt knew that he was incredibly intelligent, loyal, and genuine. He had formed a bond with the funny little man that Schlatt hadnt experienced before, going so far as to hold office together and get married. He held a deepset affection for the other, one who was blatantly unafraid of the barriers Schlatt had put up, and who even made him feel safe enough to occasionally pull them down. Of course, the creeping dread was always there, and before he knew it, the ram hybrid had pushed his love away in the most pitiful of ways.

It had pushed Tubbo away from him. 

Tubbo was such a charismatic young man. Schlatt looked into his eyes and saw complete and utter untapped potential that had been squashed under Wilbur and Tommy. He wanted to see the boy grow. He told himself he didn’t like the kid, that he kept him around for the sake of politics, but he could later admit to himself that he found himself instinctually acting fatherly. Whether it was because Tubbo was a ramlin like him or not, he became a parental figure against his conscious will.

Schlatt was a businessman by trade, and a dreamer by heart. He had spent countless hours wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so damn afraid of being himself. He had spent countless years constructing mountainous walls around his heart, letting his mind make decisions driven solely by his paranoia.

Being dead changed things. His mind felt foggy, and he scarcely felt the need to think over all his decisions before making them. He did what he wanted. He knew he was dead, and what grudge could the living enact on the dead? He missed living, missed being able to look into the eyes of those around him, and feel something. He missed the warmth of holding Alex’s hands while they watched movies. He missed feeling Tubbo’s soft hair as he ruffled it. He missed feeling. 

It wasn’t all bad though. 

Despite seeing the broken expression in Alex’s eyes as he died, and after leaving his body, watching the younger man clutch at his corpse with drenching, regretful tears, and feeling the utmost pain, he now knew that Alex hadnt hated him the entire time. Alex still held him in his heart. That felt good. Made him happy.

His memory was foggy and blurred, and he could only make out certain scenes. Things before he had even been summoned to Dream’s Kingdom- Camping and spending his youth with Wilbur, taking Charlie and Traves to the fair, and celebrating Noah’s birthday with Cooper and Ted (What had happened to them?). Things during his term as president- He remembered his wedding day, he remembered the first time Tubbo had genuinely smiled at him, he remembered helping Fundy with his hybrid-related issues, and he remembered celebrating his birthday with his closest friends. That was before Alex and Tubbo had left.

Why had they left again? 

There was one other thing, too. 

Wilbur. He could see him. He wasn’t sure when Wilbur had died or how, but something in his heart swelled up with damned happiness whenever the softspoken ghost first came into view. Schlatt felt like they were young again, causing trouble with no care in the world. (Sometimes Schlatt would see a glimpse of a man when he thought of Wilbur. Blonde and scruffy, older and kinder with massive black wings not commonly seen. He felt he knew him, yet didn’t. Who was he again? And who was the other hybrid beside him, with the crown? He felt like he should know them.) 

  
There were many things he wished.   
  
He wished he could remember. He wished Alex could see him. He wished he knew why he was stuck here as a ghost, and why he couldn’t leave Alex’s side. Not that he didn’t love the man, but there was almost a sort of radius around the duck hybrid that Schlatt couldn’t leave, and sometimes he wished he could visit Wilbur and escape his ex-lover’s healthy and completely non-toxic three-way engagement.   
  
Wilbur could see him. Wilbur greeted him with open, loving arms. His old friend, near and dear to him yet also so distant. He was glad.   
  
There was something so bittersweet about witnessing Alex fall in love again. Schlatt had half the mind to feel horrified, betrayed, and furious. But truly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t place the blame on Quackity for falling in love or moving on. Schlatt wasn’t a good fiancé, he could remember that. He had hurt Alex’s feelings numerous times, and ashamedly, he could admit he had stricken him as well. There were many, many things that the specter of Schlatt could truthfully say he regretted. But none of them, not a single one, came as close to how absolutely revolting he felt at his misdoings to Quackity.

He was surprised and confused as to why he could remember the lows of their relationship. He could see himself concluding within hours of his rebirth concerning his decrepit memory. He heard the way people talked about him. It was not good. They spoke of his steadily decreasing health in the past tense, and while Schlatt was dead, he was not an idiot. He likely could only remember things that applied to his afterlife, right? Ghosts returned because of unfinished business, or at least that’s what people said. Was his decaying relationship with Quackity his unfinished business? Maybe. He didn’t really give a shit. He just missed being alive. Missed being able to touch.

After a while, Quackity became restless. He thought densely of his desires to harm a very specific person, one Schlatt couldn’t remember. And honestly, he didn’t care much. He spent most of his days attempting to prank those around him. He made things fall, made things go missing, said creepy shit in peoples ears that he was almost sure they heard, until one day Alex stormed from his home. Schlatt floated boredly behind, practically getting dragged along as the new cabinet donned gear and traveled into waist-deep snow. 

Schlatt only began to pay attention when Wilbur showed up. They talked and talked, and they discussed meaningless things like their shared memories, where Tommy had gone, and why no one could see or hear Schlatt. Wilbur concluded that it was because Quackity had devoured his heart. 

Schlatt nodded in agreement then, as it made sense. It would also explain the radius dilemma, why he couldn’t leave Alex’s side. They continued the discussion, getting to why being a ghost was actually pretty cool, and then also why it was absolute shit. Schlatt vented, as he always seemed to do. He told Wilbur of his deepest, most pitiful desire. To feel again. To be able to be touched and to touch the world around him. He ached for it. Eventually, Wilbur came up with an idea. 

“What if you possess something? That way your spirit will have a heart,” he said weakly. His voice always came out that way, harsh and yet small. Schlatt wondered if it was because the sword severed his diaphragm. 

“I mean I could, but what?” Schlatt’s was raspy from screaming and coughing. Wilbur said his death was long and rough.

“Well you are a goat, so what about a sheep?” He prompted. Schlatt had responded with an agonized huff and a scrunched, almost disgusted face.

“I’m a ram you fucker! And why would I possess a sheep? It’s humiliating!” and Wil would laugh. 

And if Wilbur came and showed his family a blue sheep and called him his closest friend, he wouldn’t be wrong. 

Schlatt felt alive, almost at peace. Alex had patted his head several times, and while it was very lackluster, it was incredibly rewarding. Being a sheep wasn’t as degrading as Schlatt thought it would be. No politics, no fear, just being hugged by his childhood friend and eating grass. He missed Alex, but every now and again he would unpossess the sheep and follow him, whisper words he would never hear. And sometimes, only sometimes, he would try to hold Tubbo’s hand. And at the end of the day, he would return to the sheep, talk to Wilbur until they both fell asleep, and then the next day he would do it all again.


	5. all over again (karlnapity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl returns from traveling. His fiances await him on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> following the lost city of mizu travel! karl seems to forget the most important things sometimes. :))

When Karl pushes his way through the sticky veil of indigo and lime, swirling oil slick that left his back aching and his skin tingling with energy, he feels his head pound and panic rise in his chest. 

With fleeting pain and a distinct and intense need to grip his hands over the soft leather cover of a book, to smear his hands up with ink and pour chunks of his memory into a book before they faded forever, Karl dragged himself away from the burning light of the void. 

He'd traveled again. He couldn't forget anymore. He was reaching his limit, he could feel it. And so he wrote and wrote until his vision became yellowed from the pages, pouring every ounce of pain from his soul into a document that could maybe help prevent the future before it came.

And once the sun fell lower and lower, and his hand burned from overuse and the nail on his middle finger began to bleed from abrasion, he stowed away the diary haphazardly on a shelf, he stumbled his way past his hidden door and shouldered it shut behind him. Breath growing heavy, he felt his internal organs shiver and shake as his scalp became cold and hot again repeatedly, his body rejecting the very essence of the doorway he had come through.

The sun shone directly through the window and into his eyes, the rays feeling like lasers into his very psyche, and so he raised his hand tiredly in an attempt to keep them away from his sensitive nerves. It came through his fingers, leaving warm stains on his forehead and cheekbones until suddenly the rays were gone altogether and the air became cold as it fell into shadow. He felt cool fingers on his skin and warm limbs envelop him, and while the sensations were absolutely over stimulating he found himself relaxing into the concealed figures hold. It felt familiar.

When he awakened, Karl came into bed so warm and so familiar he almost rolled right back over and fell asleep again, but his head pounded in his skull and he felt so unbearably alone. He let out a gentle whine. Opening his eyes carefully, he saw that it was night outside. He could see rays of the moon hitting the landscape gently, a silver blanket on a cold world. 

The rest of the soft grey curtains were drawn, leaving the room in a darkness conquered only by the lanterns hanging over the bed itself. Karl looked away from the flames. They hurt his eyes and for some reason made his heart hurt. 

Carefully, as to not upset his head or induce any nausea, Karl sat up. He didn't know where he was, but he was comfortable. Something about this place, with the rich spruce walls and walls covered in beautiful paintings and banners, shelves covered in knick-knacks, and an armor stand in the corner, was familiar. He felt as if he'd been here before. 

He looked around a tad more until his eyes came to rest on the bed beside him. The bed was abnormally large, with deep blue sheets, long grey pillows, and grey fur quilts. And in the bed beside him, curled on his side and breathing dreadfully onto Karl’s bare knee, was a man with gorgeous tanned skin and hair as black as night. There was a scar across the center of it, from his lip all the way across his eyelid and into his hairline. It was jarring, but not out of place. His face was peaceful, if not troubled. He was beautiful. 

Who was he? Karl couldn't say he knew. But whoever it was, they made him feel safe, pulling out a bubbling warmth from his stomach and the undesirable urge to reach a hand out to delicately smooth the hair out of the stranger’s eyes. So he did. His hair was soft. 

Suddenly, the door in the corner of the room opened gently, a figure stepping through with a covered tray and bright lantern. It lit his face brilliantly, igniting his brown eyes in such a way they seemed to smolder, flames curling about in his very eyes. His hair was dark brown, pulled back into a small ponytail that much of the lower hair had fallen out of, and delicate bangs fell into his eyes. His chin was scruffy and the man was rugged in a way that made Karl’s heart leap. He was wearing shorts and a big shirt, his hands full with the lantern and tray.

He came in, shut the door behind him quietly with his foot, and slowly walked over to the table beside the armor stand on the other side of the room. Ever so gently, he set the lantern down and then the tray, sliding in on carefully before letting out a gentle sigh. Karl felt butterflies in his stomach at the sight of the man. He looked so warm, so cozy, and the sight of an obvious warrior in a setting so domestic was a sight Karl felt woozy at. 

Like the man in bed beside him, the man with the lantern exuded a familiarity that was contagious, and Karl felt so comfortable, so at home, he just opened his mouth.

“Hello,” he said quietly as if to not wake the sleeping beauty beside him. 

The man looked up and over in surprise, a gentle fondness coming to rest on his face at the sight of Karl. Karl smiled at him.

“Hey babe,” He said quietly, “When did you wake up?” the man slowly made his way over, coming around to delicately sit down on the empty side of the bed and look deep into Karl’s eyes. He was stunning up close, and almost radiated heat. 

“Uh-” Karl stammered, “Only a few minutes ago,” He said. 

The man stared at him fondly, his head tilted slightly. There was a look in his eye that Karl couldn't quite place. Was it sadness? Fear? 

“Here,” the man said, passing Karl a glass of water he hadn't seen before, and Karl took it gratefully from the man's hands. When their fingers brushed, he felt as if he had touched an open flame. He was hot- and it was exhilarating. Karl quickly chugged the water, trying to drown his confusion in hydration as he felt questions bubble up. Once the glass was empty, He passed it back to the man who simply took it and set it on the bedside table. 

“Karl, did you do it again?” And the words were spoken with such meaning that Karl instantly knew that this man knew everything about his very being, his soul. He knew about the traveling, which meant he was to be trusted.

“Yes,” He breathed. 

The man shifted closer, reaching up a hand to brush away his bangs, and on its descent, he let it fall to rest upon Karls’s hand. Karl felt himself shiver. It was so familiar. Painfully so. His skin was hot and it was burning in a way that made Karl realize he’d been here before.

The man smiled, a painful, melancholy expression reminiscent of a grimace, and rotated his hand to pick up Karls and raise it slightly. He covered it with his other, embracing Karls single palm while the time traveler sat still, enchanted.

“Karl, it's me, Sapnap. I’m your fiance,” at this, the man, Sapnap, showed Karl his own hand, the stranger's thumb delicately stroking over a golden band on his ring finger, “Behind you is Alex, our other fiance. You've traveled and forgotten again, haven't you?”

Karl felt the edges of his nerves singe and his body grow cold. His head began to pound again, but the words recalled something slightly. This was familiar for a reason. This was right. Fiances. His boys. His eternal loves.

“Sap,” He said, unaware of where the nickname came from, but regardless he scooted back against the headboard and curled into the warmth of the man's side. He'd been here before. Never this bad though. 

Sapnap curled around him like a cat, arms wound around his midsection and face in his shoulder, embracing every part of his fiance as if he'd almost lost him. Karl supposed he'd had. Everywhere Sapnap touched exploded into heat, a warmth so intoxicating that Karl wondered if he was sober. He exhaled shakily. This was where he wanted to be. He felt an overwhelming pang of love.

“Here. This is the more official one,” Sapnap whispered, his breath on Karl’s neck, holding a leather bound book in front of his fiance. Karl took it carefully, and knowing what these books usually entailed, opened it cautiously. 

Inside were two pages of scrawled handwriting, recounting essential memories such as his engagement and the explosion of a nearby city of L’manburg, as well as a small section on two men, called Schlatt and Dream. They had ruined his fiances, according to past Karl, and he needed to be there for them whenever they needed consolidation. Wise words. 

He closed the book, setting it on the nightstand beside the empty water glass, and instead leaned his head back onto Sapnap’s shoulder. The man kissed his cheekbone gently, careful as if to not burn him. Karl giggled. A thought hit him, something so out of nowhere he wasn't sure what had called the information. A blaze hybrid! That explained the heat. 

Karl felt tingling, and he let his head move on its own. His gaze fell on Alex in bed beside them, whose eyes were open and the great expanses of his deep brown iris’ were on full display. They met eyes. They were beautiful. However, unshed tears shone at the corner of his vision. Karl frowned, tilting his head. 

He leaned forward out of Sapnaps grasp and raised a hand to gently wipe away a tear that had fallen. “Don't cry,” he said.

Alex sniffed, and slowly sat up to lean into Sapnap as well, who shifted so that he was more in the center of their bed. “You forgot again,” Alex said simply. His voice was quiet, pained. Karl frowned, reaching out instinctually and lacing their fingers. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” He said. It hurt to see him like this, even if this stranger who Karl had mostly blurry memories of was still so new to him. “I remember you two a bit, I think-” Karl began, but fell off when Sapnap leaned forward to wrap the blankets around them and set another pillow behind his back, before opening his arms wide again and repositioning Karl between his legs. 

“Sorry guys,” he murmured with a smile, and Karl only snuggled in closer, clasping his hands with one of both of the boys. He looked into Alex’s eyes and felt surges of love and devotion, looking into his scarred face and seeing a hardass with a heart of gold and one too many emotional scars for such a small body to show. Karl knew within a millisecond, that Alex was pained and traumatized yet still found solace in his life, that he had made mistakes and regretted his entire past, and that still now he doubted every decision he made- But he never showed it. And then within the same millisecond, the thoughts were gone, absorbed but forgotten.

“What do you remember, novio?” Alex asked, and Karl couldn’t help but smile at the nickname. This entire moment in time, wrapped up in such a safe place, feeling so at home- it was all so melancholy. He fought back dejected laughter, instead resolving to whisper across to the beauty with the brown eyes. He felt a hand brush up and down his spine and felt the pleasing chills that came with it. They knew him better than he knew himself.

“It comes in waves,” Karl said apologetically. He felt Sapnap breathing beneath him, the man practically a space heater in the rather cold room. Karl was never more grateful. The feeling felt like home.

“I remember feelings mostly, and blurry moments sometimes,” Karl said. “But there's one constant, and I think it's the only good thing about coming back.”

“What would that be, Karlos?” Alex whispered, and another wave of gentle blurs settled in his mind as butterflies flew about his stomach before exiting through his mouth.

“I get to fall in love with both of you all over again.” 


End file.
